


Research Project

by EntreNous



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen, Humor, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-25
Updated: 2004-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 18:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel's not really searching for ceramic angels online.  Spike helps him find the right page.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Research Project

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a request for Spike teaching Angel to use Google. Also, aww, remember Froogle?

“All right then,” Spike said. His legs were spread wide, and he had bent over at the waist to get at the keyboard in front of Angel. “What search engine have you been using?”

Angel shifted uncomfortably in his leather chair, clearly made antsy by Spike reaching across him. “Uh . . . search engine?”

Spike twisted around to look at him with derision plain on his face. “On the computer. When you’re searching for information and such. You wanted me to help you search the right way, so I’m asking. What page do you go to usually?”

“Page?” Angel echoed blankly. He cleared his throat. “Well. Cordy used to do a lot of the computer stuff. And then Fred, sometimes, would look up information. And since we’ve been here, you know, I haven’t really have to do--”

“Much of anything,” Spike muttered. He leaned, still bent over, against folded arms on the desk, and then purposefully poked at a few keys. The laptop whirred to life as a new window popped up. 

“Look, I’m the CEO. I’m in meetings all of the time; I have to make the most important decisions. So I don’t have time to check every email or look things up -- Harmony or someone else takes care of it for me, prints out whatever it is that really needs my attention.”

“You always did like having others at your beck and call,” Spike said. “Like me right about now, for instance.”

“It’s not that,” Angel objected. “I need to learn this system.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “What you really need is someone to show you where the ‘On’ switch is.”

“I know where the ‘On’ switch is,” Angel said. There was a pause and then he pointed with a slightly unsteady hand. “Um. That’s it. Right?”

“Close enough,” Spike said, snorting. “Now, I’ve gone ahead and book-marked this page for you, so all you need to do is go to this little button, click on it, highlight this, and there you are. All right?” He looked back at Angel once again, and because Angel was leaning towards him, he nearly bashed Angel’s head with his elbow. 

“Can you not be all hover-y and close like that?” Angel asked petulantly. “This is a big desk, and there’s no need for you to sit practically in my lap while you’re doing whatever it is that you’re doing.”

“You’re the one wanted my help,” Spike pointed out. “And you’re the one who wanted this tiny thing, which doesn’t give us much room to maneuver.” He flipped his hand at the sleek, light laptop in evident dismissal. “Can’t show you much unless I get all up close and personal. Unless you fancy letting _me_ sit in the big chair, and _you_ can stand and watch.”

Angel gripped the chair arms firmly. “No. This is my office, my desk, and my chair. No one sits here but me.”

“Yeah, I remember _that_ \-- never good at sharing, you, unless the thing belongs to someone else, eh?” 

Angel just dug deeper into the chair and scowled. 

Spike sighed and waved towards the screen. “All right. All you need to do is type in a word, or a few key words or phrases -- quotes around whatever has to appear exactly as is, like with a name. Images, go to this page; news, go here, and if you want to search cached pages--”

“This will be enough to start me off,” Angel interrupted him. “Don’t tell me any more. I can’t remember all of the specialized stuff with you talking so fast.”

Spike shrugged. “Then I’ll just be on my way . . .”

“No!” Angel exclaimed, catching Spike’s arm when he seemed about to straighten. “You can’t -- well -- that is, I need you to stay to make sure that I’m doing this right. But just . . . don’t come behind the desk any more. Go there,” Angel said, pointing at one of the cushioned chairs angled towards the desk. “I’ll call you over here when I have a question.”

Ten minutes passed. Examining his nails from his vantage point in the chair, Spike exhaled loudly to make clear how very bored he was. He barely made a motion before Angel growled out, “Don’t even think about it,” and Spike sneered as he lowered his heels away from their intended resting place on the desk. After drumming his fingers against his thighs for a few more minutes, he groused under his breath, and began to hum off-tune.

“Damn it.”

“Need my help?” Spike asked the question as though he was shocked, but the mocking came through loud and clear as he clutched his chest dramatically.

“Not yet -- just let me -- damn it!”

Spike ignored the earlier directives not to come behind the desk again and slouched over to see what the matter was. He laughed when he saw that Angel had somehow called up the page for Froogle, the shopping site, and was now miserably clicking through page after page of decorative ceramic angels.

“A collector of those hideous little knick knacks, are you?” Spike nodded wisely. “No wonder you didn’t want any of your flunkies helping you out with this.”

“No,” Angel bit out. “I’m trying to look something up, and now I’m getting _these_ things, and I don’t know how to get back to the other page you had me on before, because --”

Spike moved in, pointed and clicked, and Angel was back at the basic search page. 

“Now then. Why don’t you just tell me what it is you so desperately need to look up on your own, not telling _any_ of your worker bees, that you needed to call me in as your private tutor?”

Angel looked at him warily. “You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“Not a soul; I swear,” Spike said with wide eyes.

Angel sighed. “So I’ve heard that there’s this site. And . . . it has some . . . information about me on it.”

Spike grinned despite himself. “Were you in some skin flick way back when? A little bit of creative acting to keep you in blood during the lean years when you first got the soul?”

Opening his eyes wide in horror, Angel shook his head. “God, no. Nothing like that. I mean, hey, I ate _rats_ , but I was never _that_ desperate.”

“Fine, fine; don’t get yourself in a snit.” A contemplative look crossed Spike’s face. “ ‘Course, not like _everyone_ who appeared in a porno back then did it because they needed the cash . . .”

Angel gestured at the screen, ignoring Spike’s musings. “But now this isn’t specific enough, and--”

This time when Spike leaned in to key in some phrases himself, Angel didn’t say much of anything. They scanned the links together until suddenly Angel made a strangled noise. “Okay. I see it, I think. So you can go now . . .”

“Which one, this?” Spike asked with a frown, about to click a W&H press release about Angel’s involvements in various charities.

“No, not that, just -- go, okay?”

“No, I won’t run along like a good boy, not until you tell me what it is that has you so . . . bloody hell.”

Suddenly they were confronted with a large, detailed, and obviously “unofficial” site put together by nameless employees at Wolfram & Hart. Even at a glance one could tell that it was entirely focused on Angel, and that its most important purpose was to make fun of Angel’s hair. 

“Well, they were quite . . . thorough,” Spike said, not even bothering to hide his grin. “Who knew that all this time while everyone was yes-ing you to death, they were logging in their off-hours setting this up.” He pointed at one particularly uncomplimentary picture with glee. “Brilliant, really -- and clearly, given your deep love of hair products, there’s an endless supply of material.”

“You know . . . you helped, I found the site -- now get out of here,” Angel said through gritted teeth.

“But look at all of the different pages they have!” Spike marveled. “This really is good work. And the extensive reach of the graphics -- ten galleries!” He scanned the page more closely and his face lit up. “And see, you can leave comments.”

“Don’t you dare!” Angel bellowed as he wrenched Spike away from the laptop. 

“Just one,” Spike implored, waving his fingers in a typing motion. “Oh, come on,” he shouted as Angel held him back while his hands pawed in an effort to get at the keyboard. “As a reward! For helping you!”


End file.
